The Way of the War
by Kay Elle Hunter
Summary: Draco Malfoy is sent in2 hiding. Harry, Ron & Hermione r making intense plans 4 the journey that could end their lives. They realize Draco could very much be the key 2 their success & set out in search 4 him only 2 find him in unusual company DOFC RHr
1. Chapter 1

**THE WAY OF THE WAR**

_**By Kay Elle Hunter**_

**C1: Sanctus Veliusiccum **

He had ran, he had escaped and he had then vanished.

Severus Snape had watched him go, knowing it was for the best but in no mind believing he should follow. A prize lay ahead for the loyal Death Eater where as for Draco… Draco would've faced the Dark Lord again at a price - a price that would almost certainly put an end to the young wizard's life.

So Draco had ran, he had escaped and with a swish of his Hogwarts school robes he had vanished to a place he had never seen nor heard of.

Looking around nervously, almost shaking, Draco discovered himself beside a shallow creek, trees and darkness at every shift of the eyes. Pulling a damp scrap of parchment from his robes he read the messy scrawl with a frown. "_Sanctus Veliusiccum_," Draco whispered, trying to understand.

_Sanctus Veliusiccum? _

And then it struck him and this time he spoke loudly and clearly: "Sanctus Veliusiccum."

Trees hoped aside, the creek narrowed slightly, but Draco was paying more attention to the building that was suddenly appearing before him. Wooden walls, glass windows and an arched wooden door all appeared out of nowhere and filled the clearing the trees had made.

The cabin had two floors although it was still rather small. The windows were grimy and looked as though they had rarely been opened. In fact, the entire cabin appeared to have been abandoned for over a decade. As Draco approached the building hesitantly, he was too shaken to take a great deal of notice of the rotting timber or the cracked window to the right of the door. The doorknob felt loose beneath his hand but with a gentle turn and a creak the door opened to reveal a small, dusty and discarded room.

Right in front of him stood a tiny round table and two battered old wooden seats. The floor was presumably wooden and uncarpeted but the thick layer of crisp dust made it difficult to be certain. To Draco's left was a lumpy grey armchair whose twin sat some 10 feet away across the room beside an aged coffee table that stood crookedly in the far most corner.

Draco breathed in only to have dust fill his nostrils along with the smell of mould and starch. The place was filthy, he thought, as his eyes landed on the staircase that would lead him upstairs.

He made his way towards it, weakly slamming the front door and being careful not the break the fragile hinges. He made a small note of the little kitchen that was in the far right corner, beside and underneath the wearing staircase that he stepped onto.

The staircase was quite sturdy, his footsteps muffled by the amount of dust that had made home on them. Reaching a tiny landing, he turning left and took three more careful steps upwards before he reached what was obviously the cabin's only bedroom.

A small bed stood closest to him underneath another grimy window, old moth eaten sheets were untidily dressing it, showing the lumpy mattress and a visibly broken spring. The bed stand was dusty as everything else was; the drawers were sitting open and empty, as were those on the chest of drawers that stood across the room and the doors on of a uncared for antique wardrobe.

Turning around, Draco noticed a room that ran immediately above the kitchen below. Moving forwards and opening the tired door, he found himself staring directly into an obscure reflection of himself. He'd found the bathroom and without a thought invading his numb brain, he walked swiftly forwards, struggled for a moment in turning on the stiff taps and then let his wet hands clear away the grime from the mirror.

He braced his hands on the basin and swallowed as he took in his deathly pale completion, the terror in his grey eyes and the reality of where he was and why: he wasn't a murderer.


	2. Pondering & Wondering

**C2: Pondering and Wandering**

The bed was lumpy as Draco had believed it would be.

He tossed and turned the night away, not getting a second of sleep until his brain grew too tired to think and too tired to acknowledge the lack of comfort the bed held.

Draco's eyes opened at the first sunlight, and he instantly began struggling to suppress a sneeze that the rising dust was trying to force. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he grabbed his wand from the bed stand and stood, immediately making his way towards the grubby window on the left wall.

The sun was shiny brightly through the trees. Birds were chirping and happily souring through the cloudless sky. The very vision and sound of them doing so greatly annoyed Draco; how could the sun shine and birds sing and dance when his life was in grave danger?

Dumbledore was dead and Draco wasn't naive. Without Dumbledore, the wizarding world was doomed to quickly fall into the powerful hands of Lord Voldemort. Muggles and muggleborns would be tortured and slaughtered. Those who defied Voldemort would be bewitched and fall victim to the terror before their own eyes.

And then there were those who Voldemort would never tire of hunting. He would never pause or stop or give up before they were in his hold. He would find them and would find the greatest amount of pleasure in torturing them through pain and through heartbreak until finally he would kill them.

Draco was certain he would be one of those victims. The Dark Mark was the license for a lifetime worship and support to the Dark Lord. Over the years there had been many who turned their backs and tried to walk away as though they were allowed. But not a single one had lived, not a single one had so much been able to escape for longer than a month. Even then they were beyond lucky.

Draco pondered on this thought as he mentally named those who had also turned their backs on Voldemort or otherwise was a mortal enemy to him. Harry Potter for example, the boy who lived after so many confrontations with the Dark Lord – the first time having shredded him of his powers.

Albus Dumbledore was another who Voldemort had also looked to kill – and yet he had to ask Draco to do it for him. Draco could only imagine the outrage the Dark Lord would have shown once Snape told him Draco had failed to summon the courage and that Snape himself had to turn his wand on Dumbledore and utter the fatal words.

There was also, of course, the remainder of the Order of the Phoenix, all of whom fought to vanquish Voldemort and his followers for good.

And then there was Draco's mother.

Narcissa Malfoy was a victim only because she was Draco's mother. Voldemort would torture her for answers in regards to Draco's whereabouts. He would kill if she didn't present the answers.

The thought was enough to torture Draco senseless. He cared for his family; he missed his father, who was held prisoner in Azkaban, and he knew he would most certainly miss his mother if anything was to happen to make her unreachable.

Without a second thought, Draco, who had come to once more feel frightened and unsure of the possibilities, wordlessly cast a spell on the window in frustration. It shattered.

He was frightened, he was confused, he was frustrated … he was hungry.

Draco knew not how he was meant to obtain food in this place. He most certainly couldn't use magic. He didn't know how. He also didn't have an owl present to bring him any.

So he would wander. Snape had briefly told him that the cabin in which Draco stood was close to a village. Just head east and he should find it. This of course made Draco uneasy as he was unsure as to the nature of this village. Muggle? Wizarding? Combined? There was also the problem of Voldemort being able to track him.

But still Draco carefully set off with his empty stomach guiding him, walking steadily towards the sun and looking around him cautiously, paranoid that he could feel eyes watching him.


End file.
